


is it nothing more than admiration?

by brawlite



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Chair Sex, Credence Barebone is damn sure of his feelings, Credence is nineteen, M/M, Magizoologist Assistant Credence Barebone, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Percival Graves is trying to be responsible, Professor Percival Graves, Sex in Semi-Public Places, a small a out of pining soon followed by resolution, mystery lube don't worry about it, protective percival graves, rejection but only for a brief moment, sort of a student-teacher fantasy though credence is not a student any longer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/pseuds/brawlite
Summary: Credence meets Mr. Graves in his office at Ilvermorny for a quick chat before the weekend -- he's really not expecting it to turn into anything more.





	is it nothing more than admiration?

“Mr. Graves?” Credence leans up against the doorframe to Percival Graves’ office, peering inside, but not venturing forward unwelcomed into the space. “Are you in?”

Credence can’t see anyone in the office, but he can only assume that Mr. Graves is around -- the door is open wide and is currently unwarded. Percival Graves, one of the most prestigious Defense Against the Dark Arts Ilvermorny has ever had, isn’t one to leave his office unguarded.

“Mr. Graves?” Credence tries again, this time knocking against the doorframe with his knuckles.

Mr. Graves’ head appears from behind a stack of boxes and trunks in the corner of the room. Immediately, his eyes find Credence and he disengages himself from -- whatever it was that he was doing. “Credence, my dear boy!” He sets an arm-full of old books atop the trunk, dusts himself off, and makes his way to the door. “Come in, come in.”

Credence does.

He pushes himself off the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair, following Mr. Graves into the office. It’s a large space, packed full of books and artifacts and talismans, but still it’s somehow cozy. Like an old library, or a well-used living room. It’s very Mr. Graves, Credence has always thought. The man permeates every inch of the space, down to the oriental carpets, the coffee mugs stacked on the desk, the tables stacked with books that are overflowing with tabs and papers wedged between the pages.

“What brings you here today, Credence?” Mr. Graves asks, waving his wand to move some books from the chair in front of his desk, the one that Credence always takes. “Shall I put on some tea?” Before Credence can even answer that one, he can see the teaset start to prepare tea.

“I was just passing by, so I figured I’d stop by before the weekend,” Credence says, taking a spot in the newly-cleared chair. Credence has sat in this chair so many times, for so many years, he’s practically lost count of how many times he’s been in this exact position. Back when he was in school, Mr. Graves had been his favorite professor at Ilvermorny -- though Credence can still say the same now, just as an assistant and not as a student. There’s just something compelling about Mr. Graves, something that none of the other professors have.

It’s also sort of why Credence is here. His words aren’t necessarily a lie, per se -- but they’re also not the full truth, either. The truth is more that he just wanted to see Mr. Graves. It’s become a sort of unhealthy obsession of Credence’s, seeing the man. It’s like he just can’t get enough.

So, before the weekend, before Credence had two whole days where he wouldn’t have an excuse to drop by Mr. Graves’ office, he wanted to see him. Even if the pretence is flimsy, Mr. Graves doesn’t call him on it.

It’s awfully kind of Mr. Graves to indulge him like this, to always offer him tea and a seat and a long chat.

“Chocolates?” Mr. Graves offers, pushing a box across his desk after he takes a seat in his large desk chair. Perhaps they would be more suited now, as sort-of-colleagues, to sit next to each other in the chairs by the window, but Credence prefers this. He prefers the small reminder that Mr. Graves was his professor, that the man is smart and accomplished and powerful -- and still, he chooses to spend some of his time with Credence.

“Thank you,” Credence says, taking one of the small berry-shaped chocolates. It melts on his tongue when he places it in his mouth, oozing a tart raspberry filling from the inside. It’s decadent and delicious -- likely far more expensive than anything he would buy himself. Credence can’t help but close his eyes and savor it.

Mr. Graves is watching him when he opens his eyes again. “Do you have any weekend plans, Credence?” Mr. Graves asks him, without missing a beat.

Credence shakes his head. “No. I was just going to help Newt with building a new enclosure for the Nundu.”

Mr. Graves nods and takes a sip of his own tea. “Make sure you take some time to yourself. I wouldn’t want you to overwork yourself, Credence.”

“Taking care of the beasts is a full time job, Mr. Graves.”

“It is. But that is also what we employ Mr. Scamander for. You are to be his assistant, not the creatures’ primary caretaker.”

Credence doesn’t have the heart to tell Mr. Graves that Newt spends even more time with the beasts than he does. Credence himself loves helping with the beasts -- there’s few other places he’d rather be, other than in Mr. Graves’ company. “Yes, Mr. Graves.”

“I’m not chastising you at all, Credence. Please understand that. I simply want to make sure that _you_ are being cared for. You are more important. I’m concerned about your wellbeing.”

Credence flushes. He’s not entirely sure what to say to that, to the idea that Mr. Graves wants to make sure he’s being taken care of. So, he just takes a sip of his own tea and lets his eyes fall to Mr. Graves’ pale throat, to his scorpion pins, and finally to the tie that is lovingly tucked into a soft-looking silk vest. Credence can’t help but admire just how well-dressed Mr. Graves is. His clothes are always fashioned out of decadent fabrics and are perfectly tailored for his frame. It’s hard _not_ to look, to notice. Mr. Graves is always polite enough to not notice Credence looking, to not mention it and glance the other way.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves says, “please look at me.”

And how is Credence supposed to resist a request like that?

“Very good,” Mr. Graves says. “Now, tell me that you are taking care of yourself. Are you getting enough sleep? Are you eating enough? Are you taking enough time for yourself?” Mr. Graves puts down his teacup. “I worry about you, Credence. I worry that you spend too much time with Mr. Scamander’s creatures. I worry that --” Mr. Graves pauses for a moment, startlingly unsure of himself. It’s not a look Credence sees on him often. “As loath as I am to say this, I worry that you spend too much time hiding out in my office. I enjoy your company an immense amount, but I don’t want you to deprive yourself from time socializing with your peers.”

“I’m not your student anymore, Mr. Graves,” Credence hears himself say. The words tumble out before he can stop them, before he can think better of his indignant tone.

Mr. Graves looks a bit startled, so Credence pushes forward. He’s unsure of exactly what to say, just knows that he needs to keep talking. “I’m not your student. You don’t have _to_ worry about me spending time with my peers or how I’m doing socially. I -- well, I prefer to spend my time here, with you. I’m choosing this. I want this. To be here, talking to you.” Truthfully, he wants nothing more.

Well, almost nothing.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves starts. Then stops. He takes a breath and begins again, “Credence, I’m quite a few years older than you, and I think--”

“You’re not that much older,” Credence interrupts.

Mr. Graves continues on, as if Credence hadn’t said anything at all. Resolute. “I think that perhaps you should focus your attentions on a more _suitable target_.” The words are quick, decisive. As if Mr. Graves tried to say them quickly enough that Credence couldn’t interrupt again.

The words settle, the dawning realization strikes -- and then the bottom drops out of Credence’s stomach.

Oh. _Oh_.

So, maybe Mr. Graves hasn’t been turning a blind eye the whole time, and instead has just been hoping that Credence might stop of his own accord. He had been trying to be _kind_.

“It’s not that I’m not incredibly flattered,” Mr. Graves is saying, while Credence’s ears ring. He feels his face heat, a fierce, embarrassed blush taking hold over what feels like every inch of his skin. “I truly am. But you should be -- well, your attentions should simply be with your peers.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence says, the words coming out like a croak. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this embarrassed before.

“You cannot help your affections, Credence. There is no reason to apologize. But there are simply innumerous reasons that -- well -- _this_ cannot happen.” Mr. Graves gestures faintly between himself and Credence.

“You don’t want me,” Credence says, before he can stop himself. He can’t help the bite to his words, the pain there. It’s all a very nice way, a polite way, of turning him down. Very Mr. Graves. It still hurts, though, no matter how polite it is. It _aches_.

Mr. Graves coughs and pauses a moment before speaking: “It’s not that simple.”

Credence’s eyes flash up to Mr. Graves’ face, “What do you mean, it’s not that simple? If you don’t want me, it _is_ that simple.”

Mr. Graves sighs. “It’s not that I --” he then stops and scowls. “We don’t need to have this conversation.”

Credence feels a surge of courage as he grasps onto the small thread of hope that came with Mr. Graves’ denial of it being simple. “It’s not that you _what_?”

“Credence.”

“Tell me. You owe me that, at least.” It’s true. “It’s not that you what?”

Mr. Graves takes a breath. He then lets it out, posture resigned as he leans back in his seat. “Fine. But I don’t want any arguments.” Credence nods. It’s not a promise, though. He can’t promise that. “It’s not that I’m not interested, but there are numerous reasons that it simply cannot happen.”

What. _What_? “ ** _What_**?”

“First of all, there is the age difference to consider. Secondly, there is the fact that I was your teacher for years, not to mention your mentor. You’ve developed an attachment to that authority and that trust -- it’s not uncommon. _Thirdly_ , you need to take into account that I am in a position of power over you in terms of status at this school. I would never want to abuse that. Again, Credence, I’m flattered, but --”

Credence interrupts, words quick. “Is there a rule against it? Against a teacher and an assistant?”

“Well, no --”

“Then you’re saying no because you don’t want this. Me.”

“That’s not true.”

“There’s no rule against it.” Credence pushes himself up from his seat and steadily maneuvers his way around Mr. Graves’ desk to where the man is sitting, stepping up close.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves warns, turning and leaning back in his seat. He’s clearly trying to maintain some control over the situation, though Credence is quickly trying to pull that into his own hands.

Credence takes one last step that puts him close enough that his knees brush against Mr. Graves’, so that he is looking down, towering over the man who is typically the one who towers. “You want me.” He likes the sound of those words in his mouth, the idea that Mr. Graves could want _him_ , Credence Barebone. “You want me, but you’re coming up with reasons not to let this happen. Why?”

When Credence had come here this afternoon, it had certainly not been with _this_ intention. But now, he’s not backing down.

“I’m aware that you truly believe that you want me --”

“I _do_ want you.” More than anything.

Mr. Graves shushes him. “I believe that you believe that. I have seen the way you look at me, Credence. I’ve noticed it for years. It’s idolization, infatuation -- nothing more than admiration. What you want is fantasy, and I can’t give that to you. To -- allow any of this would be gross manipulation on my part.”

It’s not infatuation. Credence knows it’s not. But he doesn’t know how to explain that to Mr. Graves. He’s wanted this man for so long -- not because he is a hero, but because he is a man. Good and bad and flawed and broken in his own way. Credence wants him -- not the way that someone wants to reach out and touch an idol, but the way someone would want to reach out and touch a lover. He wants to know Mr. Graves, in a way that is certainly not idolatry. The frustration boils in his stomach, clenching at his insides. Credence knows he can’t give this up.

That sheer desire, the unwillingness to let this go now that it is so close, is what spurns him forward. Desire burns hot inside him, clouding what might have been considered the last of his good judgement. Before he realizes it, Credence is leaning down and -- and his lips are pressed firmly against Mr. Graves’ lips. He is _kissing_ Mr. Graves.

For one beautiful moment, his whole world is Mr. Graves. It’s all he tastes, all he smells, all he can feel. One bright, focused spot in a sea of chaos.

It’s perfect.

It takes a split second to realize that Mr. Graves is kissing him back. It also takes a second to realize that right Mr. Graves is gently putting his hands on Credence’s shoulders and -- and slowly pushing Credence back.

When Credence opens his eyes, focusing on Mr. Graves, he can’t help but realize that the man looks a bit disheveled. Surprised. At a loss for words, for once.

“Tell me that you don’t want this,” Credence asks, filling in the silence. “ _Tell me_ ,” desperate.

“I -- can’t tell you that.”

Good. _Good_. “Then tell me you want this. Because I want this. So badly, Mr. Graves. I want you. I’m not infatuated, it’s not -- just a crush.” Credence can feel his face start to heat. He knows he is blushing full force, at this point. “I promise.”

Mr. Graves looks hesitant, but not nearly as resolute as he had earlier. “Credence,” he starts, then stops.

“I promise. I’ve...felt this way for so long. It’s not going to stop. And I don’t _want_ it to stop. Please don’t tell me I don’t feel this way when I know that I do.” Credence can’t say he’s _in love_ with Mr. Graves because he doesn’t know that for sure, and he knows what it would sound like. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he leans in again, so close that he can feel Mr. Graves’ breath on his lips. “Please kiss me.”

Finally, Mr. Graves does.

It’s gentle and cautious and well, it’s _everything_. It’s everything that Credence could ever have hoped for. When he opens his mouth just a bit, deepening the kiss, he gets a taste of Mr. Graves. Chocolate and tea and something that is just so uniquely Mr. Graves. Credence can’t get enough of it.

Before he knows it, Credence is bracing himself against the back of Mr. Graves’ chair, hands on either side of the man’s head, pinning him in. Now that Credence is kissing him, he’s not about to stop. This isn’t something he is going to give up, now that he has it.

He feels like he could kiss Mr. Graves for a million years and never get bored.

So, when Mr. Graves puts his hands on Credence’s waist, he makes a noise of protest and simply kisses Mr. Graves harder. To his credit, Mr. Graves just laughs, the sound muffled and brilliant in Credence’s mouth. “No,” Mr. Graves says between kisses, “-- just --” he kisses Credence with a smile and tugs him forward by the hips, until Credence practically falls forward -- so that he is straddling Mr. Graves.

_Sitting on his lap._

It takes a moment for the realization to dawn. And when it does, it hits him like a ton of bricks: Credence is sitting in Mr. Graves’ office, straddling his old professor in his desk chair, kissing the life out of him until both of them can barely breathe. It’s like a scene straight out of one of his most forbidden fantasies.

“I can’t believe I just --,” Credence says, pulling back and looking around to the door. Still closed. No one in the room but them. Credence’s face is practically burning he is blushing so furiously.

Mr. Graves just chuckles and picks up his wand from the desk, waving it in the direction of the door. “ _Colloportus_ ,” he says and Credence hears the door’s lock click into place. “Is that better?” he asks, reaching out to brush a strand of Credence’s hair from his forehead. Credence can only nod.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Graves says. “I shouldn’t have assumed that I knew what you were feeling better than you.”

It’s an apology that Credence appreciates. He’s due it, too -- but that’s honestly the last thing he’s thinking about. It’s really quite hard to concentrate with his knees on either side of Mr. Graves’ thighs. Mr. Graves is so warm underneath him, and Credence himself feels like he’s practically burning up -- it’s quite distracting. It’s even harder to concentrate when Mr. Graves shifts slightly underneath him, which only reminds Credence of just _how close_ they currently are.

“Credence, are you alright?”

He nods. “I’m just -- well, this isn’t exactly how I pictured this going.”

Mr. Graves chuckles. Credence loves the sound of it. “This afternoon’s visit, or --” Mr. Graves moves his thumb at Credence’s waist, tracing his hip bone gently, “-- this?”

Oh lord. “Both,” Credence practically squeaks, feeling his breath come a little heavier. Mr. Graves hand is hot, even with the layers of fabric between his skin and Credence’s.

“It doesn’t have to continue this way,” Mr. Graves suggests, kindly. Awful kindly. “We could go elsewhere. We could stop.”

Too bad that’s not what Credence wants.

“No,” he says quickly. “No, please.”

Mr. Graves raises his eyebrows. A silent question.

Credence wishes that Mr. Graves could fill in the gaps, that he didn’t want Credence to articulate his desires. It’s really truly embarrassing. But, by the look on Mr. Graves’ face, it’s something he truly wants -- not just a cruel question. Not that Mr. Graves would ever be cruel.

“I want to stay here.” Credence says as he glances down, at the way his legs are spread over Mr. Graves’. At how they are so close together. It makes his breath catch in his throat. He can’t imagine moving. He doesn’t want to -- this is the stuff of dreams, right here. “Please,” he begs.

When he looks back to Mr. Graves’ face, he’s surprised to find the man somewhat agape. His hair is a bit mussed, his lips red, and his eyes darker than Credence has ever seen them before. He looks -- well, he looks _desirous_. So, Credence kisses him again, it’s only fair.

It’s not a gentle kiss, like their first real kiss. It’s needy and open and so good. He doesn’t try to keep his passion, his pure and unshakable want from the kiss. He doesn’t want Mr. Graves to misunderstand what Credence wants here -- which is to say: everything. He wants it all. Right here, right now, in Mr. Graves’ office. On his desk chair. Maybe even on his desk. It’s perhaps the most perverse thought Credence will admit to freely, and now that it’s stuck in his head he doesn’t want to make it go away.

Mr. Graves’ hands tighten on his sides and Credence’s hips roll of their own accord. A spark of pleasure rolls through him. He can’t help but try to muffle the noise that tries to escape from his throat. It’s a bit embarrassing -- but that doesn’t seem to bother Mr. Graves any, who tightens his grip and presses down on Credence’s hips, silently encouraging the movement. And who is Credence to disobey?

The kiss turns ravishing the moment Credence can feel himself grind down against Mr. Graves’ equally hard length. He can’t help but groan into Mr. Graves mouth, unabashed, at the feel of it. It’s thoroughly exhilarating, knowing that _he_ is the reason for Mr. Graves’ arousal, that Credence is the one to provoke this. It’s _hot_.

So is the way that Mr. Graves is panting into his mouth.

Credence loses himself in it for a while, until Mr. Graves is pulling back and his hands are at Credence’s shirt buttons. “May I?” he asks, and Credence nods furiously. While Mr. Graves works on his buttons, Credence begins working on the other man’s. After a moment, they are both shrugging off their shirts and Credence is left looking down at his own pale expanse of skin in contrast to Mr. Graves’ toned and tanned chest.

“Look at you,” Mr. Graves is saying, pushing every negative thought out of Credence’s head before it can even settle. “You are gorgeous.” Strong, sturdy hands roam over Credence’s stomach, tracing the lines of him. “Magnificent.”

It feels like worship, Credence thinks. It feels even more like worship when Mr. Graves pushes Credence back a bit, leans forward, and gets his mouth on Credence’s chest. He doesn’t discriminate -- everywhere is open to the attentions of Mr. Graves’ mouth, though he focuses particularly on Credence’s collarbones and his nipples, both of which have Credence squirming and moaning beyond his control.

Mr. Graves is a very patient man. He takes his time, learning what makes Credence writhe in pleasure the most, what makes him groan, what makes his hips buck without his control.

“I could take you apart for hours,” Mr. Graves tells him. Credence kind of wishes he would. But he also wants more, and more is not what Mr. Graves is giving him. It’s frustrating.

So, Credence pulls Mr. Graves back up and catches him in another kiss. “Next time,” he promises against Mr. Graves’ lips. It feels like a promise, like he’s making sure that Mr. Graves knows that this isn’t a one-off.

Mr. Graves smiles. “Next time,” he echoes. “But what about this time?”

Credence lets himself slide backward off the chair, until his knees hit the ground. It’s a good enough answer as any. He looks up at Mr. Graves and the man looks a bit bewildered. Stunned.

Credence takes a breath, wills some confidence into himself, and leans forward, reaching for the button on Mr. Graves trousers. He waits for Mr. Graves’ approval, his consent -- and when Mr. Graves nods, Credence undoes his trousers and carefully pulls his length free. He takes a moment, just running his fingers over the soft skin, admiring the feel of it in his hand and enjoying the quiet intakes of breath from above. The soft whisper of his name. The minute way Mr. Graves twitches under his attentions.

Then, Credence allows himself to indulge. He doesn’t tease, because he neither has nor wants that sort of control right now. Instead, he takes Mr. Graves’ cock into his mouth, easy and sure. Because this is what he wants and he knows that right now, it is his to take.

It’s a bit overwhelming, the feel of Mr. Graves’ length on his tongue, with his lips wrapped firmly around it, the smell of him, the way Mr. Graves’ hips twitch underneath him. It’s something to savor, though, and so Credence does. He takes his time, at first, like Mr. Graves did with his chest, but then Credence increases his speed and his rhythm until he can hear Mr. Graves panting outright.

Soon, Mr. Graves’ fingers find Credence’s hair. They tangle into the shaggy mess of it, fingers tightening until the pressure of it is perfect, just a hint of pain. Then, Mr. Graves begins guiding his movements, just adding a bit of force to urge Credence along. Credence can’t help but groan when those fingers tighten even more, when Credence takes Mr. Graves’ cock quite far into his mouth.

He can hear his name, murmured between loud breaths. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

Far too soon, Mr. Graves is pulling Credence off, looking down at him with a dark and wanting expression. “If you keep that up, Credence…” he warns, and Credence can only smile.

He isn’t quite ready for Mr. Graves to be done yet, either.

For a moment, as Mr. Graves is pulling him back up onto his lap, encouraging Credence to drop his trousers at the same time, he is bewildered by just what is happening. This turn of events is stunningly dizzying. If Credence had considered how his afternoon and evening would be going, this certainly wouldn’t even be one of the options. Not that he’s complaining, or anything.

There’s no place else he’d rather be than straddling Mr. Graves once again in his office chair, this time fully nude. It should be embarrassing, but at this point, Credence knows that the flush on his face is purely from arousal and exertion and not much else. It helps, the way Mr. Graves looks at him: admiring and affectionate and also incredibly aroused.

With one of his large hands, Mr. Graves reaches down and grasps both of their lengths, together, and begins working them over. Credence gasps and then groans, thoroughly entranced by the way he feels up against Mr. Graves’ cock like that. It seems so depraved, rocking on the man’s lap, bucking into his hand for more and more -- but that’s part of what Credence loves about this: just how depraved it makes him feel. It’s hard to forget that this is just like a fantasy. It’s perfect.

Mr. Graves is talking at him, varying words of praise and admiration, but Credence can barely hear him. The sounds roll over him pleasantly, making his stomach boil at the praise, but he can’t help but put his full concentration on looking down and watching himself slide against Mr. Graves, gripped in that huge hand. It’s entrancing.

It has Credence’s full attention.

Until it doesn’t.

Credence gasps when Mr. Graves’ other hand moves from Credence’s hip to his ass. Mr. Graves grips the meat of it, squeezing, until Credence moans. Then, his fingers begin to trace down into the cleft of his ass, grazing over the sensitive nerves of his hole. Credence can’t help but buck his hips, nearly causing Mr. Graves to lose his grip on their lengths.

“Is this alright?” Mr. Graves asks.

Credence can only furiously nod. When Mr. Graves doesn’t continue, only brushes against him with his fingertips again, waiting for a real confirmation, Credence manages to find his words: “Please. Please, I want more.”

And Mr. Graves nods.

For a moment, his hand moves, leaving Credence’s skin feeling cold in its absence. But soon it is back again, Mr. Graves’ fingers slick with something slightly cold and slippery when they slide against Credence’s hole. He wants to know where it came from , but that’s a question for later. For when he isn’t so overwhelmed with passion and need. “Please,” Credence says again, more desperately this time. He needs more, has to have it. And he knows that Mr. Graves can give it to him.

“Greedy,” Mr. Graves says, but that doesn’t stop him from slowly pressing a finger inside Credence. The slide of it is surprisingly easy, though Mr. Graves keeps his progress steady, pausing occasionally to tease at the stretched muscle of Credence’s hole with another finger. It’s perfect torture, Credence thinks, pressing his face into the crook of Mr. Graves’ neck, trying to stifle some of the noises escaping from his throat.

Perhaps Credence is greedy. Perhaps he just can't get enough of Mr. Graves.

Mr. Graves is just kind enough to give him more, though.

One finger becomes two, and Mr. Graves is stretching him, pulling gasping moans from Credence’s throat. Two becomes three, and Credence is groaning, pleading, desperate. Mr. Graves patiently works him open until his muscles are loose and ready, until Credence is dizzy with his own pleasure, even though Mr. Graves has been ignoring his dripping cock entirely.

“May I?” Mr. Graves asks him, and Credence can only laugh breathily and nod. As if that's any question.

This time, his non-verbal response seems fine, because Mr. Graves is pulling his fingers out and gripping his own cock with his slick hand, lining himself up just right. He guides Credence with his other hand, tight around Credence’s hip, slowly encouraging him downward. Like Credence needs any encouragement.

“Steady,” Mr. Graves says with a laugh, when Credence tries to move quickly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

But soon Mr. Graves is seated all the way inside him, stretching Credence and filling him completely. It is, by far, the most strange and exhilarating feeling he has ever experienced. For a moment, he can do nothing other than pant against Mr. Graves’ neck while the other man runs gentling hands down his back. Credence hears more words of praise, more statements of adoration, and he eats it all up.

When he can think again, he catches Mr. Graves in a kiss and begins moving. He is careful, at first, not wanting to push himself too hard, but soon he cannot stop himself moving more quickly, unable to get enough of the delightful feeling of Mr. Graves sliding deep inside him.

“You're so good, Credence,” Mr. Graves tells him, holding tight to his hips and thrusting deep. He catches Credence in a deep kiss, biting at his lips before pulling back to just look at him for a moment. “You are truly remarkable, amazing -- a miracle.”

Credence just moans, and grinds down harder.

Soon, Mr. Graves takes some more of the reins. He begins fucking Credence in earnest, deep and thorough, until Credence doesn't have a thought in his head other than _more, more, more_. It is shockingly close to a religious experience, he thinks. _Magical_ , he thinks is probably a better descriptor, though. Not unlike casting his first spell or letting out the fire of a curse -- truly remarkable.

Mr. Graves drives into him, again and again, until Credence arches just so and Mr. Graves’ cock brushes against that sensitive spot inside him and Credence practically shouts. It's glorious. He grinds back down, seeking out the feeling with desperate need, until Mr. Graves is hitting that spot with every thrust, leaving Credence a moaning, panting, whimpering mess.

“Please, please, please,” he can hear himself practically sobbing against Mr. Graves’ skin, his lips, his neck. “ _Please_ ,” he chokes out, and Mr. Graves wraps his fingers around Credence’s cock.

It's so good. There's no other way to describe it. Being filled completely, taken apart and touched so passionately -- it's simply amazing.

All it takes is a few strokes of Mr. Graves’ hand for Credence to be spilling over his fingers, muffling a shout against Mr. Graves’ neck. The wash of pleasure crests and hits him like a wave, sudden and then rolling and unstoppable. It is all-consuming.

Credence rolls his hips when Mr. Graves slows his thrusts, still moaning a litany of, “please, please, please” until Mr. Graves keeps fucking him to seek his own release. It's over-stimulating and so much -- maybe too much -- but Credence can't get enough. By the time Mr. Graves huffs and groans and shudders beneath him with one final thrust, Credence is practically sobbing again.

Mr. Graves runs a hand down his back and Credence shivers at the touch, all of his skin sensitive and prickled with gooseflesh.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves finally says, when Credence’s panting has finally slowed.

Before Mr. Graves can ask him if he’s alright, Credence catches him in a kiss, deep and slow. It lacks the frenzy of before, but still has all of the heat, the affection -- everything Credence needs to convince Mr. Graves that he still feels the same, still feels this thing between them. It's not going away. If anything, Credence thinks it has solidified, formed truly into something unmovable.

Eventually, Credence breaks from the kiss and scoots back, hissing when Mr. Graves’ length slides out of him, along with some of his release. Credence looks down and makes a distraught face. “Your trousers,” he says with a frown, feeling a hint of guilt slip between his ribs.

“ _Scourgify_ ,” Mr. Graves says, fingers already on his wand. Both of them instantly become clean.

“Your office,” Credence says, face heating as he looks around, suddenly aware of just where they are, now that the passion has been lulled inside him.

Mr. Graves chuckles. “Yes, a little taboo, isn't it? Are you alright? No one could hear you -- I have charms to soundproof for private conversations.”

“This was a bit more than a private conversation,” Credence says, smile creeping onto his face.

Mr. Graves kisses him with a smile of his own. “Indeed it was.”

Credence slides from his laps and slowly begins tugging on his clothes, unsure of what he should do. A moment of unsteadiness hits him -- what if he's supposed to leave?

Fully dressed, he looks back at Mr. Graves, who looks as perfectly pressed as he had when Credence came in. Of course. And Credence probably looks a mess.

“Well--” Credence starts, unsure of where exactly he is going, what he should be doing.

“Come home with me?” Mr. Graves interrupts him, looking a little flustered himself. “Rather -- would you _like_ to come home with me, Credence?” Mr. Graves asks. “Perhaps to continue our private conversation somewhere more, well, suitable?”

Oh. _Oh_!

A grin takes hold of Credence’s face and refuses to budge. “Yes, please!” He would like nothing more.

He can't help but kiss Mr. Graves again, and this time it feels like a promise. Like sealing the deal. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my entry for the Guess Who challenge/collection.
> 
> so, please guess who i am!


End file.
